


The Weight Of Your Crown In My Hands

by MagicalStranger13



Category: Strange Magic (2015)
Genre: Kid!Bog - Freeform, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-04
Updated: 2016-01-04
Packaged: 2018-05-11 20:11:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5640394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MagicalStranger13/pseuds/MagicalStranger13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"We regret to inform you that the king has passed."</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Weight Of Your Crown In My Hands

**Author's Note:**

> A little something I did for an anonymous prompt on tumblr for thechickwiththesketchbook's kid!bog picture.
> 
> Enjoy the angst, my dears!  
> <3

“I dorn’t _care_ what ye say!  I dorn’t wanna train anymore!  I’m _sick_ of it!”

“ _Stifle_ tha’ belly-achin’!  We’re done when I _say_ we’re done!  Now _pick_ up yer staff!”

“No!  I _said_ , I dorn’t _wanna_ train anymore!  I wanna go to thah lake with my friends!”

“Those _half-wits_ ye’ve been wastin’ all o’ yer time with lately, are _no’_ yer ‘ _friends_ ’, boy!  They’re nothin’ but filthy leeches. pretendin’ tah care fer ye so they can take advantage o' yer title, now tha’ ye’ve come o’ age!”  

“So _what_?  At least they invite me places!  At least they let me have _fun_ , unlike _you_!   _You_ don’t care!  Ye _never_ listen to me!  Ye _never_ let me do what I wanna do!”

“What ye _want_ is irrelevant!  Yer the _Briar Prince_ ; yer responsibility to yer kingdom _always_ comes _first_!  That’s thah _end_ of it!”

“Why do ye always ruin _everything_ fer me?!”

“Tha’ is _enough_!  I am yer fa-! I am yer _king_ , an’ only _I_ know what’s _best_ fer ye!”

“WELL I _HATE_ YOU!  I WISH YE WERE **_DEAD_**!!!”

A dry flutter, and the iridescent flash of four adolescent wasp wings fills the Briar King’s gaze as his only son flees the throne room through the open skylight in a rage.  

“BOG!”  He shouts, throat sore from age and something else much worse.  His own wings began to lift him from the ground in pursuit.  “BOG, COME BACK HERE!  DAMMIT, BOG!  I SAID COME BACK HE-!”

The raspy, but thunderous order is cut off by a series of hacking coughs, powerful enough to force his feet back to earth.  He tries to shake them off, but they only grow stronger and more frequent.  It becomes dangerously difficult to draw a single breath.

“Bog!”  His once mighty voice wheezes, but his son is long gone; completely unaware of the dire turn his father’s health has now taken. “Bog, I-!”

The coughing fit resumes with a vengeance and he stumbles, grasping the royal staff in both hands to remain upright.  There’s a burning in his chest and he can taste his own blood in his mouth.  His brain is pounding, his vision blurs, and there is a terrible, long and high-pitched whistling in his ears.

He can’t breathe.  

Before the Briar King collapses, he thinks he can make out a short, beautiful, red-headed figure sprinting towards him.

“Briar?   _Briar_! Hold on, honey, hold on!”  

 

* * *

 

 Bog tore and slashed at the tree bark without mercy, carving vicious gouges and sharpening his ten claws into deadly talons.  His jaw ached from the force of his grit, bared fangs and the angry, tear trails seared his thin cheeks.  

When he’d stormed out of the castle, his initial direction had been aimed for the lake, but somehow, he’d veered off to the east; not far from the border.  The pain and fury no other being but his father could provoke inside him, bore down on his shoulders like a landslide until he could stand it no longer.  His wings stuttered, faltering the grace of his flight and he’d nearly crashed into the massive angel oak.  As the afternoon light faded to dusk, his energy seemed to deplete in tandem, and he finally turned away from the wounded trunk with a snarl on his lips and plopped to the ground with his scaly head in his tired hands.  

As always, his father’s words had cut deep, but what had truly given them their sting this time, was the fact that Bog knew they were true.  He was well aware that the goblin teenagers he’d been hanging with didn’t really care for him.  He knew they were either feigning kindness so as to hopefully secure a high position in the court once they reached adulthood, or allowing him to get close so they could size him up and consider challenging him for the crown come his day to assume the throne.  He knew they laughed and gossiped about his appearance behind his back.  

But his whole life…

…he’d been rejected time and time again by his peers and this was the first time anyone, outside of family and staff, had included him.  He was so desperate for that acceptance, no matter how false, he seized it and just let himself pretend.

And when he pretended…he was happy.

What hurt the most was that his father would deliberately try to destroy that.  He would verbally remind him of his perpetual loneliness and try to keep him tethered to a life of constant sparring, insults, and humiliation.

_Damn him!_

_Damn him to hell!_

The tears flooded his crystal blue eyes anew, despite his efforts to crush them with his fists.  The older he’d become, the more assertive he was encouraged to be; as a means to distinguish himself as future king. Unfortunately, the tradeoff was that the more Bog rebelled, the more harshly his father fought back, and as today was evident, he was an expert at being cruel.  How could someone, who so obviously should share in his insecurities and depression for the same reasons, be so selfish and dismissive?  

Over and over again, his mother swore up and down that things weren’t as black and white as Bog thought, and that someday, he would understand everything about his father. Well, today was certainly not that day, and at the moment, Bog wasn’t so sure he even _wanted_ to understand.  

 _Ever_.

His dismal musings were shattered by the approaching whir of dragonfly wings and the frantic voices of two castle guards calling to him.

“Your highness!  Your highness!”  

Swiping his eyes free of tears, he felt his face morph into an irritated scowl as they touched down, dismounted, and jogged towards him, both in a clear state of distress.

“Your highness,” the smaller one panted, “we’ve been looking _everywhere_ for you!  You must come at-!”

“I’m not goin’ _anywhere_!” Bog snapped. “I am _done_ tranin’ today, an' that’s _final_!  You can tell my father that if he won’t leave me alone about this, then I won’t come home tonight!  Better yet, jus’ tell him I said to ‘piss off’!”

But his command was not heeded.  Instead, the two goblins shared a stricken look, which quickly sank into despair.  

“I…” the taller guard spoke in a low tone, “I-I’m afraid that’s… _impossible_ now, my prince.”    

Bog cocked his head in confusion.

“What are ye talkin’ about? What do ye mean?”

The first goblin met his glare with an expression of pure anguish.

“We’re……so sorry, your highne-…… _sire_.”

“Sorry fer _what_?  An' why did ye call me-?”

The Briar Prince’s questions dried up and ice filled his stomach as he began to sense that something was terribly wrong.

“What’s goin’ on? What’s…happened?”

The second goblin squared his shoulders after a long, dreadful pause and finally uttered the words that would forever change Bog’s world.

“We regret to inform you that the king has passed.”

 

* * *

 

 The next few hours were a whirlwind of instructions, announcements, and preparations all intertwined with sorrow, condolences, and unbidden advice.  Bog passed through it all like a creature with a brain parasite; wordlessly nodding address and suggestion, and numbly shuffling about wherever he was escorted.  

At some point, he remembered longing for the arms of his mother, but she was inconsolable.  She had to be given a sedative and carried to her room before they’d even lit the funeral pyre.  

Somehow, Bog still expected- _hoped_ -that the whole thing was a sick joke.  Even as he watched the flames eat away at his father’s white, unmoving body, he waited for someone, _any_ one, to laugh and say that they’d fooled him.

Then, after the ceremony, someone pushed the royal staff into his hands and yelled: ‘ALL HAIL THE BOG KING!’, and Bog found himself wanting to scream or vomit at each and every chorused repeat from the goblin crowd.  

_ALL HAIL THE BOG KING!_

_ALL HAIL THE BOG KING!_

_THE BOG KING!_

_The Bog King!_

The Bog King.

King.  

He was _king_.  It didn’t matter that he was fifteen years old.  His father was _dead_ ; his ashes scattered about the grass and trees, and now the crown belonged to him.  The responsibility for every last living thing in the Dark Forest, fell entirely on his shoulders alone.        

 _Alone._   

 

* * *

 

It was well past midnight, perhaps near daybreak, and Bog was standing in the center of the shadowy and deserted throne room, clutching the staff like a security blanket, else he lose his balance and fall to his knees.    

He’d abandoned any pretense of even attempting to sleep hours ago.  His mind was too chaotic for rest and he couldn’t shut out the awful sound of his mother sobbing in her bedchamber.

The massive throne, constructed of a deer’s pelvic bone and lower spine, sat vacant and dreary in the gloom, Bog dared not sit on it.  Not yet. Sitting on that thing would be admitting that this wasn’t all just a hellish nightmare.  It was like he was drowning in a sea of emptiness that was somehow denser than solid rock.  Never had he felt so small and vulnerable; as if he was about to be crushed beneath a falling timber.  

If there was any joke, it was that this was all real.  His father was gone, leaving him to rule over the Dark Forest and its inhabitants.  He had to protect, fight, judge, execute; make every decision from this day on.  

And he was terrified.

How could it be that he’d been taught and trained his whole life for this, yet now that it was here, he’d never felt more lost and afraid?  What was he supposed to do when the sun rose?  What would he say?  What decrees should he make?  Who would he turn to for advice?  Who would spar with him now?

This was all so _unfair_!  He didn’t even get to say _goodbye_! The last thing he said was…

Red hot pain stabbed straight through his heart and he swayed on his feet, barely catching himself with the heavy staff as be began to cry for the first time since he learned of his father’s death.  

_I…didn’t mean it, dad.  I swear I didn’t meant it!  Please! Please, come back!  I can’t do this on my own.  I’m not ready!  I don’t know what to do!  You always had all the answers!  The forest needs you!  Mom needs you!  I need you!_

He didn’t know how long he stood there, weeping like a child, but he gradually became aware of a change nearby.  Sniffling, he raised his head and felt his eyes widen when the clouds uncovered the moon, and he witnessed a soft, silvery beam of light reach down from the skylight and pool around the throne. 

Entranced, Bog’s feet moved of their own volition, and he stepped onto the dais and crossed the space to sit on the illuminated throne.  He marveled at the strange, sudden feeling of calm and security, before he gasped and flinched at yet another phenomenon.  

When he’d sat down, the amber stone in the crown of his staff caught the moonlight and reflected streaks of orange fire across the walls.  Bog stared at it in rapt fascination for a beat, until a small, but nonetheless hopeful smile touched his lips.  Adjusting his wings and propping the staff against the arm, he leaned back into the regal chair and watched the glinting amber until sleep claimed him at last.   

 

* * *

 

 A clearing throat jerked him from slumber.  Warm, golden sunlight had replaced the moon’s shine.  Bog cracked his neck, snatched the staff, and straightened in his seat to see two unfamiliar goblins standing in the center of the room, looking at him rather expectantly.  One was a chubby female and the other was a brown, snaggletooth male.  

“Um….who are _you_?”

“Forgive us for waking you, sire!”  The male said; he seemed like the kind that was incessantly eager to please.  He stood on his toes to appear taller and spoke a bit too loud for Bog’s liking this early in the morning.  

“We are Thang…” he pointed to the female and then himself, “and Stuff!”

The female glared at her companion and elbowed him in the ribs.  

“Oh!  I-I mean, Stuff and Thang!”  He repeated with a blush, this time pointing to the female first and then himself.

“Well, whichever it is, what do ye _want_?”

“We’re your new aides, your majesty.”  The female explained.  “The…late king selected us in his will.  We also have urgent news from the mushrooms for you!”

Bog grimaced slightly at that first part.  His father’s two aides, This and That, had mostly been bumbling dolts.  He could only pray that these two would turn out to be more reliable.  

“What’s the news?”

“ _You_ should tell him.”  She hissed to Thang.

“Huh? _You_ tell him!”

“Don’t worry, I think he likes you.”

“ _Really_?”

“Get on with it, will ye?” Bog frowned as a migraine flared to life between his eyes.

“Yes, sire!” Thang grinned excitedly and cleared his throat again.  “HARBINGERS ARE EXPOSING THEIR CATTLE!”  

“…… _What_?”

It seemed like Bog’s prayer had proved useless.

“You idiot!”  Stuff scolded, elbowing Thang a second time.  “The message was: ‘Challengers are approaching the castle’!”

That got Bog’s attention.

“Challengers?”

“Yes, sire.” Stuff reaffirmed.  “They’re on their way to challenge you to a fight for the crown!”  

So that was it.  Bog had been told about how he would very likely have to defend his title once he became king.  If he wanted to keep the throne, as well as assert his dominance over the rest of the goblin populace, it would have to be a fight to the death.  Such was the Dark Forest law.  

“How many?”

“At least three so far, sire.”  Thang replied.

Bog didn’t answer right away.  Instead, he glanced at the precious amber in his staff.  What he had seen last night…was a sign.  He chose to believe that.  His father would never leave him, in spirit.  He had everything he needed to follow in Briar’s footsteps.  Stuff and Thang would not have been chosen for him as aides unless they were loyal to a fault, and his mother would come around once her grief eased.  The realization made adrenaline start to pump through his bloodstream.  

This kingdom was his birthright.

His father had taken it from his father before him.  

His father had built this castle.

His father had killed the deer from which the throne was made.

His father had taught him everything he knew and left it all to him.

_His._

And what Bog knew and loved better than anything he’d ever learned, was a good, hard  _fight_.  For his father’s sake, as an everlasting apology for his hateful last words, he would keep his kingdom happy, healthy and under control.  Better yet, he would help the Dark Forest grow even stronger and more prosperous than it had ever been before!  

 _Bring it on_!  

“Well, if they’re lookin’ fer trouble,” he smirked, rising to his feet and giving his staff an expert swing, “they’ve come to the right place.”

**Author's Note:**

> And there's the somewhat happier ending note, cuz I'm a wuss when it comes to sad things. Anyway, please be sure to leave a comment and a kudos! Until next time!!!  
> <3


End file.
